The Ghosts of Maine
by jodm
Summary: Every lighthouse has a story to tell. The old light at Cabot Cove has more than one . . .
1. Chapter 1

_Hawaii Five-O belongs to CBS; Murder, She Wrote, to NBC. No copyright infringement is intended. _

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><p><strong>THE GHOSTS OF MAINE<strong>

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><p><em>Aunt Clara certainly has some interesting friends! <em>Danny Williams smiled at the thought. _Especially her mystery-writing friend, Jessica. And a two-week vacation on the Maine Coast isn't bad either. _He stretched as he stood up from his perch on a cooling granite rock and glanced at his watch. Almost four o'clock. Time to get to Jessica's. Sunset came early in Cabot Cove in October.

A short walk brought him to the old fishing pier. He studied the small boats tied up there. No fancy yachts like the ones he'd see in Honolulu, just working craft. He spotted an old lobster boat unloading the day's catch. He'd pick up three choice ones for dinner. Nothing like a real Maine lobster! He wandered down the pier.

"Hey, Danny!" a grizzled old sailor greeted him. "Got some nice lobstahs here. You looking for some for suppah? One of Miz Fletchah's favorites and you won't find a better lobstah than mine. Everybody knows old Ezek Hopgood's the best lobstahman in these parts!"

"I'll take three, Ezek," Danny grinned. "One pounders or so. Haven't had a real lobster in a while. The Pacific ones are okay, but nothing beats these, nicely steamed, dripping with melted butter . . ." The young cop could almost feel his stomach rumbling at the thought.

"That'll be ten dollahs," the lobsterman said, quoting a price way below market value as he pegged the crustaceans' formidable claws, wrapped them in wet seaweed and newspaper and stuffed them in an old burlap bag. "Seeing as how they're for Miz Fletchah," he added, handing Danny the sack. "By the way," he continued, "you ain't seen anything strange going on by the old lighthouse, have you? It's almost Halloween, ya know. Ask Miz Fletchah to tell you the story. And keep a lookout. The old pirates still walk these beaches, keeping guard over their booty. "

Danny swallowed a laugh as he thanked the old captain. _Steve would love this-haunted lighthouses, mysterious sailing ships, buried treasure, pirate ghosts standing guard . . . _ He'd heard a few of the Maine coast legends in the past few days, but nothing about the quaint old lighthouse that once guided sailors into the safety of Cabot Cove. He'd definitely have to ask Jessica about this one.

_o-o-o-o-o_

_Old Cap'n Ezek was right. His lobsters really are the best!_ It had been a delicious dinner: steamed lobster, potato salad, the last of this year's corn on the cob ("Imported from California," Jessica had apologized.) and a luscious apple-coconut strudel from LeBeau's latest cookbook. Danny had volunteered to do the dishes - as his Aunt Clara often said, his cooking skills were rudimentary at best. Now, everything put away, they sat in the comfortable living room, coffee in hand. Time for storytelling . . .

"So, Danny," Jessica began, "Captain Hopgood's been filling your mind with stories about our haunted lighthouse. I wouldn't be surprised if he has you hunting for buried treasure next. Anyway, the story of the Old Lighthouse is part of our local history and there really is a mystery connected with it."

The word "mystery" piqued Danny's interest. The police officer in him couldn't resist asking for more.

"Cabot Cove was once notorious for wreckers and smugglers," Jessica recounted. "In colonial times, people would light bonfires on the cliffs north of the town-it wasn't much more than a small fishing village then-to lure unsuspecting ships onto the rocks. The wreckers would loot their victims, taking the best goods and developing a kind of black market for things that weren't commonly available here."

"Luxury goods, French wines, imported fabrics, the best China tea," Aunt Clara added.

"Anyway," Jessica said, "from there, it was only a short step to outright piracy and smuggling. Why, there's even a legend that Captain Kidd may have buried his treasure somewhere along this coast. Of course, that's only a legend, but Kidd's treasure has never been found."

"The lighthouse?" Dan prompted.

A good storyteller-and Jessica Fletcher was a superb storyteller-likes to take time to draw her listeners into the tale. "The first lighthouse was built in the 1820's. The light was powered by whale oil. It was replaced in 1871, but that light only served for around five years until the present one was built a few miles up the coast. The old light was locked and shuttered, but there were stories of strange vessels anchoring just offshore and mysterious activities . . . " she paused for effect.

"And that's where the stories of the haunted lighthouse came from?" Clara questioned.

"No, that story came later. But as the old lighthouse continued to deteriorate, it gained a reputation as a dangerous place to visit. Of course, that only lured more adventurous visitors. Then, one day, just about this time of the year, a group of young people from a nearby town found themselves here in Cabot Cove and decided to explore the deserted light. The lock was old and rusty and they had no difficulty forcing it open. They probably had fun looking around the old place and ultimately found what seemed to be a secret passage behind a locked door. The passage dropped straight down-one of the group swore he heard odd voices and the sound of waves against the rocks. Needless to say, they beat a hasty retreat. "

"Smugglers?" Danny guessed.

"No one really knows what they heard. It may have just been the result of an overactive imagination. But that's not the end of the story. One of the girls discovered she'd lost a locket during their flight and went back to look for it. Her friends waited and waited and finally went to look for her. They searched the entire structure but found only a pool of blood. No one ever discovered what became of her, but it's said her cries still echo on foggy nights."

Danny shivered. "That's some ghost story. I wonder what Steve would make of it." He paused a moment, then added, "I'd like to explore that lighthouse myself. If there really is a passageway to the sea, it could still be used for bringing in contraband."

"Once a cop . . ." Aunt Clara laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Sheriff Mort Metzger heaved an exasperated sigh: another report of pirate ghosts wandering the rocky beach near the sea cliffs; ethereal glows at the old lighthouse; mysterious strangers wandering the docks. "What next?" he growled, "Captain Kidd putting in an appearance?" Had to be old Ezek Hopgood and his cronies spreading tales for over-imaginative visitors. "Better warn the Captain to lay off." Mort was beginning to hate Halloween.

Then there was that other report, the one from the FBI warning of suspected drug smugglers possibly attempting to land their illicit cargo in the hidden coves dotting the coast. That meant not only smugglers but also receivers. At least the FBI was sending an agent to assist in the hunt. The sheriff grinned as he read the man's name: John Dillinger. "Bet he takes a lot of ribbing for that!"

Mort reached for another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long day. Maybe he'd ask that young cop visiting Mrs. Fletcher to help. After all, that boy was part of a first-class detective unit. Mort wondered what experience the kid had tracking drug runners.

_o-o-o-o-o_

"So Miz Fletchah told you the story of the old lighthouse, did she, Danny me lad?" Captain Hopgood laughed. "Lots of strange goings-on around that place, especially at the dark of the moon. Seen more than a few myself, that I have, even the ghost of Black Sam Bellamy and his ship _Whydah _still sailing these waters like they did before Davy Jones sent them to the bottom in that nor'easter off Cape Cod." The old sailor could-and did-ramble on. Catching the look of incredulity on Williams' face, he said, "But I bet you'd like to explore the lighthouse."

"Jessica said you could get me in," Danny confirmed. "If it doesn't include breaking and entering, that is," he added sheepishly. That story really intrigued him. "My Aunt Clara would like to see it, too."

"My great-great grandpa was one of the keepahs. Makes me feel kind of responsible for the old place. Come back after lunch and I'll show you around. Bring a slice of Miz Fletchah's pie while you're at it."

"You've got a deal," Danny said with a smile.

_o-o-o-o-o_

"Just what I needed, Miz Fletchah, after going through this morning's reports," Sheriff Metzger said. "Your pies are the best. If I wasn't married, I'd propose!"

"Thanks, Mort," his hostess smiled. "You do sound worried. Is there something Clara and I can do to help?

"Actually, Miz Williams, it's your nephew Dan I came to see. Didn't you say that he's a police officer?"

"He is," the diminutive woman replied. "Why he even let me help him on a case when I visited him in Hawaii. And Jessica has some experience in crime-solving. After all, she doesn't simply write about murders."

"Thanks, ladies," the sheriff interrupted, "but this is a professional police operation. I'd appreciate his help if he's agreeable. We only have a small force here in Cabot Cove."

The scree of a rusty hinge alerted everyone to Danny's arrival. "Need my help for what, Sheriff? I'm out of my jurisdiction here."

"The possibility of drug runners trying to set up operations here," Metzger replied. "Seems the FBI thinks Cabot Cove is just the kind of quiet out-of-the-way place that might suit them. And what with all those odd goings-on around the old lighthouse, the Feds just might be on to something."

"You'll have to request my assistance from my boss, Steve McGarrett. If he gives his permission, you can count me in. Until then, I can help unofficially. Meanwhile, Captain Hopgood has offered to show us around the lighthouse in exchange for a piece of Jessica's pie."

"Just a piece?" the writer said. "I'll give him a whole pie!"

"Look around the building carefully and let me know what you find. I'll call your boss." Sheriff Metzger headed for the town's small police station.

_o-o-o-o-o_

Hopgood pulled out an old bunch of keys. "Let's see, I put a new lock on the place a couple months ago. Now which one of these fits?" He tried a few before he found the right one. "That's funny," he went on, "The lock feels funny, kind of like it's been forced." He handed the opened padlock to his companions. "You make anything of it?"

Danny examined the lock carefully, noting minute scratch marks. "I think someone tried to pick it. Aunt Clara, maybe you and Jessica should wait outside until the captain and I check things out. It might be safer."

"Danny," Clara glared at her nephew. "I'll have you know that I worked undercover during the war. I even infiltrated a Gestapo unit in Hammelburg. That was dangerous! This is just a deserted lighthouse. And Jessica doesn't just write mysteries, she solves them. We're going with you."

Danny knew when he was licked. He gave in gracefully.

Jessica pulled a flashlight from her bag. "Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout. I believe in being prepared." She handed the light to the young cop, motioning him and Ezek to lead the way.

Danny sneezed as a breeze from the open door stirred a cloud of dust. He motioned Aunt Clara to close the door then began a methodical search of the rooms of the keeper's house. He stopped short when he noticed what looked like a poorly-eradicated trail of footprints.

"Somebody's been here. No way of telling how long ago. He handed the flashlight to Jessica as he crouched and studied the prints. "Whoever made these may have been carrying something. Captain Hopgood, are there any other ways in besides the front door?"

"I recollect stories of an old tunnel or two leading up from the rocks. Story goes that bootleggers may have snuck their wares in that way. I know for sure there's a tunnel that drops straight down to the ocean—that's the one in the legend."

"There would have been a cellar," Jessica added, "probably off the kitchen, for storage of home-canned fruits and vegetables. All these old houses had one."

A short search led them to the unlocked cellar door. Danny turned the knob; the door opened without a sound. A quick examination revealed oiled hinges. Steps led into darkness—no electricity here—and a damp wind blew in from a hidden opening. A sharp smell of seaweed told them the tunnel connected with the tides.

"We'd better not go any further," Dan ordered. "We'll do a quick check on the rest of the place then Mort, the Captain and I will come back. Alone." He stressed the last word to be certain Aunt Clara and Jessica got the message.

_o-o-o-o-o_

_._

"NO!" Mort Metzger banged his fist on the battered desk. "This is Cabot Cove, not Atlantic City, Dillinger. What you're proposing won't work here." He pushed a paper toward the disgruntled FBI agent. "I agree that the area around the old light is likely the center of the smuggling racket, but only at certain times, what we Down-Easters call 'the dark of the moon,'"

He indicated a list. "Here, here, here. That's when we get the most reports of spirit lights and strange sounds around the light. Folks say it's the ghost of young Lizbeth, the girl who disappeared decades ago, calling for her friends. But it could be something else** . . ."**

A knock on the office door interrupted Metzger's explanation, Both men looked up, Dillinger mentally cataloging the four visitors: _old sailor, probably local; young cop, just out of the academy and itching to solve his first case; two harmless old ladies. Wonder what they want? They're taking up valuable time._

Mort smiled at the newcomers as he introduced them: "Captain Hopgood, Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer, Clara Williams and her nephew Danny. Folks, meet John Dillinger, FBI."

Dan choked back a laugh as he presented his credentials. "Dan Williams, Hawaii Five-O," he said, handing the badge case to the agent. "Sheriff Metzger requested my help on this case."

"One of McGarrett's guys," the agent growled. "You're a long way from Hawaii."

Mr. McGarrett has ok'd it," the sheriff affirmed with a grin. "Appearances can be deceiving. Now, let's get down to work. You folks visited the lighthouse. Find anything interesting?"

Dan recounted the results of their exploration: a picked padlock, signs of at least two people moving through the old building, a tunnel leading from a hidden door in the cellar, a second tunnel on the second floor dropping to the sea below.

"No ghosts?" Dillinger questioned.

"No ghosts," Captain Hopgood broke in. "She's only heard on the darkest nights. Course, there are othahs: Captain Kidd, Black Sam, Bart Roberts. Lots of folks here could tell you stories."

Dillinger wasn't interested in stories. "So, what do you propose doing?"

"We need to find that tunnel's outlet," Dan replied. "Ezek feels that it connects with a tidal cave that's only accessible at the lowest tides."

"Like the one tonight," the old sailor said. "Your smugglahs most likely have a ship anchored just offshore and bring in the stuff by small boat, carry it through the tunnel and then locals move it on from there."

Dillinger scowled. "You seem to know a lot about their operation. You connected with it?"

"My great grand pappy four greats back was one of those pirates. His stories have been carried down through the years. Good many folks around here could tell the same stories, like Miz Fletchah here. So you get the Coast Guard to keep an eye out for that boat and let's us get to exploring that tunnel. Soon as we get the girls home, of course."


End file.
